Lost and Found
by onlymystory
Summary: Elijah pauses for the most fleeting of moments. Katherine Pierce comes with a guarantee of trouble. Yet even as his mind considers the dangers, he knows the point is moot. This is Katherine. He has not seen his Katerina in some time, but Katherine is a form of her, and Elijah is a man desperate enough to cling to morsels in hope of a meal.


Elijah sometimes wonders if it is not he who is lost. He is always being given word of things found, a doppelganger, a sibling, a dagger, a curse. Now he stands in the alleyway behind yet another diner in yet another small town, waiting to hear news of a lost cure.

Why anyone would want a cure, he cannot fathom. A cure cannot ease the ache of a heart, cannot bring love or family or contentment. Cures are myths and legends designed to breed faith in the weak and Elijah has never been that. He almost leaves. Turns on his heel and walks away, let whoever this is reach out to his brother or sister for aid.

But the voice in the shadows has held him captive far longer than he cares to admit. It is for her that he searches most days. This is not the woman he seeks, but she looks the part and no matter how strong he is, he is still weak enough to fall prey to that. He thinks of that recent pair of vampire shows, so neglectful in mythology but so wise in stories of love, of desperation, of the willingness of man to go to desperate lengths for the love of another.

Elijah only half listens to Katherine's story of a cure, of the first immortal, of her offer to exchange the cure for her freedom from his brother.

Too much of his mind is reveling in the fact that she sought him out, came to him first for the first time in centuries. He agrees—not blindly, but without his usual prudent hesitation—to help her. Katherine's hand rests on his arm, the warmth of her fingers soothes and invigorates.

Elijah nods an answer, says something in response, he knows not what, and seeks to leave. Katherine is his torment, he knows but two ways to react to her and one she has not allowed since the days she was human and begged him to keep her company in the gardens.

But it seems today is to be different. Her hand travels, lingers over his heart and her eyes darken for the briefest of seconds.

He's kissing her before he can second guess himself, hands seeking purchase anywhere he can find it, lips pushing insistently as though they can keep her from changing her mind.

Katherine kisses back without hesitation. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip and he allows her entrance, accommodating to her every whim. She whispers an invitation in his ear, her hands more comforting than insistent in his hair, and it is this factor that has him wanting to say yes.

He pauses for the most fleeting of moments, wondering what could possibly possess him to carry this further. Carnal pleasures can be satisfied with anyone and Katherine Pierce comes with a guarantee of trouble. That insipidly infectious pop song had to be written with Katherine in mind. Yet even as his mind considers the dangers, considers that he might assuage this need elsewhere, he knows the point is moot.

This is Katherine. He has not seen his Katerina in some time, but Katherine is a form of her, and Elijah is a man desperate enough to cling to morsels in hope of a future meal.

He sometimes wonders if this makes him little better than a Salvatore, grasping at thin hope and vanishing happiness. But then he knows the brothers know only Katherine. He loves the girl buried deep within.

And so of course Elijah follows her from the alley. His eyes catalogue their path, he too knows what it's like to be on the run, and so he searches possible escape routes, witnesses, anything that might be a problem or a solution later. His hand never leaves hers, letting her lead the way to a small house. It's vastly different from her usual style—no sprawling foreclosed mansions, hidden on the outskirts of town—this house is small, quaint, with only a few small rooms. Perhaps he thinks of it the wrong way. It's not Katherine's style. But with every minute detail, the home screams of Katerina.

He could take her against the wall in the entryway, barely sparing time to close the door.

It would be easy enough to shove a few dishes off the table, they've done it before and Katherine would make the most exquisite of sounds.

He dismisses these ideas and more as he pulls them down the short hallway. Scenting is a wolf's trait, not a vampire's, but there are certain scents that stand out, ones that belong to family or lovers. Elijah tugs them towards the room that exudes mahogany and blackberry, rich scents that invoke memories of long nights by a fire and days when thorns pricked delicate fingers and he could taste even as he healed the injuries.

Katherine is not passive in these moments. He expects nothing less. While his senses are cataloguing memories, her nimble fingers have managed to divest them of their jackets and she slides her hands under his open shirt as they reach the bedroom.

Elijah's tongue begs for entrance as his own hands find purchase on Katherine's hips, moving upward in tantalizing strokes as he pulls her shirt over her head, his lips leaving hers only briefly. Katherine makes quick work of the rest of his shirt and sets to work on his belt, her lips leaving feather light imprints on his chest. Her jeans somehow disappear in the process, but he tugs her back up when he can feel her begin to kneel.

Such a motion feels like the beginning of a favor. He won't have tonight become any sort of quid pro quo.

It seems only moments and yet years before they manage to collapse on the bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter and bright eyes.

Katherine is pliant and demanding, the way he knows she only is with him. Most men are led to bed by Katherine, she names the rules, she takes control, and they love what she gives them. Perhaps, considers Elijah, she is still doing that here. After all, it was she who sought him out, she who whispered a note of pleading desire, she who led them here.

But she lets him lead now, like she did so long ago, when she still believed him to be a man worthy of her trust.

He moves achingly slow as he pushes inside. He gets these moments so rarely, to rush through it simply for his own satisfaction will only leave him empty and dissatisfied later.

Katherine's legs wrap around his thighs, forcing him deeper, and he cries her name in desperation.

Her lips are soothing on his shoulders, her hands tangle in his hair and hold him close to her as he moves in a steady rhythm, doing his best to hold them both on the crest for as long as possible.

When he falls, it's with a gentle sigh of contentment. He takes pride—an animalistic sense of joy and accomplishment—when her head falls back as she shudders through her own release.

Elijah pulls away slowly. It should be only minutes before she's telling him where the spare room is if he's lucky, or learning of a hotel recommendation if he's not. It's with trepidation that he reaches fingers to Katherine's jaw, turning her face towards him for one last kiss. A risky move, but he's unable to resist the pull, and he bites a little at her lip as he kisses her, giving himself the taste of blackberry and cinnamon satisfaction once more.

"Stay," she whispers and the eyes that plead with him belong to Katerina.

He stays. He knows he will fall asleep beside his Katerina and wake next to Katherine, who belongs to no one. Elijah accepts this. He loses her often—this girl who loved and danced and believed in the goodness of people—loses the Katerina he fell in love with to Katherine—a woman forced to grow cold and hard and strong by his own family.

Elijah respects Katherine. One can hardly help that. But he loves Katerina. It is Katerina that he will always seek for it is in her that he is found.


End file.
